What the Bungalow Brings
by Aesthetic-Lie
Summary: When Phoebe grows bored of her rich boyfriend, Lorenzo, a new mystery guy at the coffee shop may be her ticket to a more interesting future. Meanwhile, Helga is struggling to find a reason to stay with Arnold, though jealousy still runs rampant! Tale of i


**What the Bungalow Brings**

**One: Orchids, the Eventual Dying**

The Bungalow was packed that night. People occupied every overstuffed chintz armchair or other suitable surface available. Mugs littered every square inch of the dozens of circular coffee tables, the steam rising up in wispy wafts, mixing with the cigarette smoke of the Bungalow's trendy denizens and shrouding the tiny coffee shop in opaque, jazzy mystery.

Aided by the music of Louis Armstrong wailing through the café, and the various, loud conversations spouted by every customer she passed, Phoebe Heyerdahl felt a migraine coming on. With a tray of mocha lattes in one hand, and a rich boyfriend desperately grabbing at her other, Phoebe was trying her hardest not to reenact Mount St. Helens.

"I just need to talk to you. Two seconds. That's it," Lorenzo swore, his Hispanic accent thicker and more desperate than usual as he trailed her through a maze of post-modern, artsy types—typical clientele at the Bungalow. The kind that annoyed Phoebe the most. Almost as much as an irritatingly persistent boyfriend.

Phoebe shot Lorenzo a look that sternly told him to hold on for one goddamned minute, then turned around towards a blob of wannabe avant-gardes, setting their drinks down before them. They all looked around her age, and quite indistinguishable in their varying shades of black clothing. They didn't even stop their poorly-contrived conversation regarding the many contradictions of human existentialism to pay her for the lattes and tip her an oh-so-generous fifty cents.

Phoebe swore acidly under her breath.

Lorenzo's Gucci cologne suddenly swallowed her whole, engulfing her in a thick blanket of expensive taste, as she remembered his presence behind her (she often forgot these days). Phoebe whipped around, fixing him with a tired expression.

"Enz, I'm busy. It's Saturday night. You're not supposed to be up here when I'm working," Phoebe began, trying to scoot past him, which was near impossible unless she felt like using a few hippies as hurdles. Phoebe almost considered it, but snapped back into reality and faced Lorenzo again.

"I know, I know," Lorenzo replied, grabbing at her hand a second time, gripping it firmly like he believed she'd disappear forever if he let go. It was then that Phoebe's dark eyes locked on a bouquet of yellow orchids Lorenzo held at his side, the blossoms bursting out wildly, revealing teardrops of pink in their middles. "Ahh, now she notices," Lorenzo said, grinning broadly, and Phoebe studied him critically for the first time since he showed up at her work, suddenly remembering how good-looking her boyfriend truly was. His dark brown hair was longish and slightly wavy, curling around the nape of his neck, falling, always, into his large brown eyes. His lips were full and blush-colored, looking almost scandalous and often leaving Phoebe to wonder if maybe he had just kissed somebody moments before, which was ridiculous. Lorenzo wasn't nearly daring enough to even contemplate an affair.

Lorenzo grandiosely presented Phoebe with the orchids and kissed her affectionately atop her head, which he had to bend to accomplish considering his tall stature contrasting greatly to her petite one. Phoebe took the orchids, dazed. This was so unlike him. Phoebe let go of Lorenzo's hand to adjust her blue-rimmed glasses. She racked a nervous hand through her short, choppy black hair. She was flattered and mystified, but more confused than anything. Finally,

"What's the occasion?"

Now it was Lorenzo's turn to look incredulous. He stared down at Phoebe's small frame, unbelieving. Phoebe already knew she'd screwed up, but couldn't figure out how. Stuck in the middle of this crowd with no way out, a dizziness set over her that could have been attributed to the smoke, the overwhelming smell of coffee brewing, her ever-increasing headache. But Phoebe reasoned it was something else, and a dread grew cancerously inside her stomach as she realized Lorenzo was dressed up tonight—in a freaking Armani suit no less. His hair was styled just a little different, also uncharacteristic of his normally uniform sense of doing just about everything, including his hair.

Trying to redeem herself, Phoebe began to stutter. "I mean, they're really beautiful, Lorenzo, but you didn't have to come all the way up here. I—I'm off at twelve, and—"

"Forget it," Lorenzo cut her off sharply, his voice abrupt and hollow. Avoiding her eyes, he slumped his broad shoulders inward with a deep sigh. Phoebe was reminded of how the orchids she held in her hand would look tomorrow morning: withered, resigned.

"Look, I'll call you the minute I'm out of here," Phoebe began again, trying to catch his noncommittal gaze, but he adamantly fixed his eyes on the large-paned window towards the front of the Bungalow, the one that captured a bustling snapshot of the city outside. She touched his chest gingerly, still racking her brain, trying to figure out what made tonight of all nights so special.

"I said forget it, Phoebe," Lorenzo reiterated, his voice low though not at all threatening. Lorenzo had never radiated even the tiniest bit of anger or violence towards Phoebe. Shrugging her hand away, he turned around quickly. "I'll see you…" And letting the words hang, he shoved—forcefully, Phoebe thought—through the throngs of beatniks, his shoulders still edging forward and his hands hanging heavily in his pockets.

Though bafflement reigned, an internal bashing began in Phoebe's mind, screaming at her to run after Lorenzo and see what the hell was going on. Ungluing her feet from the Oriental rug below her, Phoebe was about to do just that when she remembered where she was—work, and standing amidst dozens of customers that were complaining loudly about needing refills, dropping obnoxious hints in her direction.

Flustered, Phoebe blushed in spite of herself, hurrying back up to the front counter where Helga was desperately trying to make at least five different drinks simultaneously.

"Pheebs!" she called, her hazel eyes a mixture of anger and anxiousness. "Crimminy, a little help here? Two café espressos with soy milk stat!"

Mechanically, Phoebe began filling the orders with the experience of a true coffee guru. In under a minute, she'd already made what Helga had asked for and began taking the next three orders while Helga finished up the rest. With the two of them working together, the place ran like clockwork, but Helga had only been working at the Bungalow for a few months whereas Phoebe had been there a little under two years, so if Phoebe left Helga for more than a few minutes, some sort of problem was bound to arise.

In all the chaos and confusion, Phoebe had discarded the orchids on the counter.

When the rush finally died, and the last of the customers finally trickled out of the café, Phoebe and Helga sat themselves at a small round table by the register to take a quick break before closing up for the night. Phoebe sipped from a mug of green tea while Helga downed a double espresso thanks to another sleepless night. Helga began recalling the past night right away, undoing her ponytail and letting her long blonde hair fall down her back. Of course, it concerned another long talk with Arnold. As of late, Helga was having doubts about the validity or future existence of their relationship.

"Again and again he tries to explain it to me," Helga pontificated, including in the spiel her standard wild gestures and melodramatic facial expressions. Phoebe couldn't help but crack a small smile. Helga soldiered on. "It's reasons why we should be together, but for every reason he comes up with, I can find ten why we shouldn't. I've tried telling him, but it's like his ears just close up. Stupid football head…" Helga crossed her thin arms under her chest. Over the years, she hadn't developed much except to grow far taller. Long-limbed and with little curves to speak of, Phoebe and Rhonda had begged Helga time and time again to go to some agency. With her good looks and body figure, she could easily get a modeling job and be making three times the money she would make at Bungalow. Helga never listened to a word of it.

There's one thing they have in common, Phoebe thought amusedly. They're both so damn stubborn.

Helga talked on and Phoebe listened mostly in silence, much as she always had as Helga's friend all these years. Helga more or less finished her rant as Phoebe took a final draught on her green tea, the last gulp a little colder than lukewarm as it swilled down her throat.

"It's obvious you guys have too long of a history to just end things," Phoebe told her friend, resting her elbows on the table and putting her hands together like a steeple. Her voice was quieter, more timid than Helga's, but it still held a powerful force that made most listen to her. "Then again, you're drifting apart. You're getting older. You're changing. But that's all natural. However, you said yourself that you and Arnold aren't officially together right now,"—Helga and Arnold were always an on-off affair—"so you want my advise? Trying dating somebody new." Phoebe grinned at Helga, a smile that bordered on mischievous, as she looked squarely at her friend over the brim of her glasses. "A new romantic rendezvous might just give you a little insight, let you see your relationship with Arnold through a more objective point of view."

Helga thought this over, a bemused smile dancing on her lips. "It's possible, but Pheebs, I haven't dated anybody but the football head in over a year."

"Perhaps that's your problem."

Helga laughed. "Maybe you're right. I need a break from him anyway," she added, rubbing her temples in vexation. "A little too much drama for this Pataki." Helga sighed and stood up, pushing the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows and grabbing a broom leaning against the wall and began sweeping up. "Ever thought of starting a 'Dear Phoebe' column?" Helga joked, looking down at the tiled ground as she swept together small piles of biscotti crumbs and wadded up straw wrappers. "You're right though, like always. It's no wonder you and Lorenzo are so perfect. I can't believe you two have been together for a year."

Phoebe started violently, almost knocking over her chair as she stood up. Her eyes widened.

"Christ, Phoebe, what is it?" Helga demanded, dropping the broom and staring at her friend in transfixed worry.

"Shit," was all Phoebe could say, her voice barely above a whisper as she walked around the table and headed towards the back of the café. Helga followed right in her wake as Phoebe continued to mutter expletives.

"Pheebs, don't tell me you didn't know," Helga said as Phoebe grabbed her purse and coat out of the small, coat-closet employee room.

"No, no I didn't know," Phoebe hissed. "That's why he came here today." Phoebe threw her hands up in frustration, grabbing chunks of her short black hair and pulling. "Dammit, Helga. He was so hurt. I knew there was something wrong. He was all dressed up, and smelling nice and the flowers—shit! The flowers!" Phoebe hurried back up to the front counter and spotted the orchids on the counter, already wilting and losing life. Somehow they didn't seem as yellow as before. She grabbed them up, feeling more wretched by the second as she cradled them to her chest.

Helga walked out of the employee room, an uncertain expression on her face. "Crimminy, Phoebe. I was positive you knew. I mean, Lorenzo was talking to everybody about it for weeks, but you know him. He didn't have any idea what he could do for you." Helga chuckled, trying her best to make light of the situation. "I mean, the guy had to come to me for help."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, last week he came over when you were out getting groceries. The guy was a nervous wreck, Pheebs. He wanted to do something special for your one-year anniversary, but couldn't think of anything that would be good enough—" Phoebe looked down at the orchids while Helga continued—"so I suggested he buy you orchids—your favorite—surprise you at work, take you out for a picnic at midnight…you know, that kind of romantic crap." Helga leaned against the counter, biting her bottom lip, shifting around uncomfortably. She wasn't used to Phoebe behaving so emotionally as she had moments before.

Suddenly, and for reasons she couldn't entirely pinpoint, Phoebe felt incredibly annoyed. She knew Lorenzo showing up at her work out of the blue had seemed strange, but the orchids and wearing a suit without occasion were downright weird, and disturbingly unlike any side of her boyfriend Phoebe had ever seen. The guy was too predictable, too schedule-oriented. Phoebe loved him to death. He was a great guy…just a great guy with a scary love for routine. Lately, Phoebe realized, his atypical behavior bothered her more and more, causing her to distance herself from Lorenzo. In the past few weeks, Phoebe had caught herself forgetting she even had a boyfriend, going as far as flirting shamelessly with guys at work. It was a wonder she remembered Lorenzo's last name, let alone their anniversary.

Tonight, Phoebe had nearly fallen in love with the guy all over again, surprising her like that had been so unprecedented, but to find out it was all a plan, and not even one devised by Lorenzo himself, dissolved all feelings the feelings Phoebe once had for him. Suddenly, Phoebe wondered what she'd ever seen in the guy to begin with. He was rich, which certainly wasn't a bad thing, but Phoebe would never be with somebody for that shallow of a reason. He was dependable, trust-worthy, not too bad in bed…but it was all the same, day after day. Phoebe could count on Lorenzo never leaving her, never betraying her—that went without saying—but in the meantime, what could she expect from him? He was a safeguard against disappoint, but Phoebe was growing tired of it. She was bored, plain and simple.

Looking disgustedly at the orchids now, Phoebe went over to the trashcan in the corner, lifting the lid and tossing the yellow beauties into its depths with flourish.

"Pheebs, what's your deal?" Helga asked. "Is he mad at you or what? Are you fighting?"

Phoebe turned to Helga and shook her head, grimacing. "No, Helga, because if we were, I sure as hell wouldn't be ending things with him tonight."

Helga merely gaped after her friend like a carp out of water, while Phoebe stacked chairs atop tables, whistling in time to the somber blues that played throughout the Bungalow.

**Disclaimer: Anything of or relating to Hey Arnold! was created by Craig Bartlett, not me. **


End file.
